


To Love Another Person is to See the Face of God

by thathyperloudfangirlchick



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Victor Hugo - Freeform, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thathyperloudfangirlchick/pseuds/thathyperloudfangirlchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only.” -Victor Hugo</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love Another Person is to See the Face of God

          “Yeah… Yeah, JJ, I’ll be over later… Don’t worry, Henry and I can’t burn the house down, you have such a spacious home that any fire we could cause would be contained before it got that bad… I’m sorry, I know that wasn’t funny, we’ll be good. See you later.” Spencer hangs up the phone and puts it in his pocket, picking up his copy of Les Miserables and enjoying the bright sunshine of the Saturday afternoon. This corner of the park remained secluded, away from the duck pond and the picnic tables the large, happy families occupied, which left this space by the peonies quiet, the perfect place for some light reading and solitude.

          “Excuse me, can I draw you?” Spencer is startled out of his concentration on Javert’s monologue by your sudden appearance in front of him. You, brightly dressed and surrounded by sunlight, stun him into silence as you hold out a gray-smudged hand. “Sorry to bother you while you’re reading, but you were just so picturesque at this moment that I’m positive you would be a great model to break me out my artist’s block. May I sit and draw you? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” Spencer shakes your hands and nods, entranced by the halo the sun seemed to give you and how beautifully it accentuates the rich brown of your eyes. You flounce onto the bench, sitting cross-legged and facing him with a wide, toothy smile on your face. It is only after you settle in your seat that Spencer notices the tiny details of your appearance, such as the spots of paint on your long, white dress and hands, the brown leather messenger bag similar to his, the large sketchbook and box of pencils in your hands, and… your lack of shoes?

          “Miss, why don’t you have shoes?” You shrug, flipping the sketchbook open as you wiggle your toes.

          “Shoes are such a waste in a pretty park like this, don’t you think? Nothing like the feel of warm grass on the feet,” you say, smiling at him as you pick out a finely sharpened black pencil. You immediately get to work after pulling your messy, curly black hair into a side braid, leaning over the papers and drawing lightly. Spencer tries to go back to his book, tries to immerse himself in the French text, but he finds himself distracted by the little hums you make whenever you erase something and the little glances you throw in his direction, at his separate features.

          “So… you’re an artist?” he asks, closing his book. You give a tiny, self-deprecating smile as you hold the back end of the pencil in between your teeth.

          “Calling myself an artist would be taking liberties, but I’m an art student, yes. I’m double majoring at South Maryland, Studio Arts and Graphic Design.”

          “That’s quite impressive,” he remarks. You smile at that, your eyes sparkling as you glance up at him through your eyelashes before looking back down at your work.

          “Ehh, not so much. You know that saying ‘Find work doing what you love, and you won’t work a day in your life’? That’s the sorta philosophy I got goin on. Majoring in this stuff isn’t that hard when you love what you’re studying”

          “That’s passionate of you,” he says, turning to face you, his elbow resting on the back of the bench. “What work will you do with those degrees?” You laugh loudly at that, your nose wrinkling at him.

          “Oh, you ask the tough questions, don’t you, Mr. Stranger?” you asked, amused. “I want to work as a graphic designer. I have a lot of ideas on how companies and websites could change their layouts to be both aesthetically pleasing AND accessible. I grew up with more than one neuroatypical person in my life, and seeing their struggles with social media and websites that not only looked terrible but also rendered them basically unreadable to that population, so I just realized, it’s a problem, you know? I’d like to bring awareness to the issue and become part of the future of accessible information.” You ramble, putting the black pencil away and carefully picking a shade of brown. “I myself have Asperger’s, and it doesn’t lower my comprehension that much, but it does affect the way I intake information, enough that I understand the struggle.”

          “You’re quite interesting, Miss Stranger. And the Studio Arts degree?” You take out the lilac purple, a hum as you sharpen it to a perfect point.

          “That’s just a passion project of sorts… I like studio art. Graphic design pays the bills, and drawings like this and paintings keep me going, not to mention the pocket money I get from commissions. This-” you say, pointing at the paper as you carefully tear it out your book. “is free though. You hand him the sheet with a flourish before standing up, brushing pencil shavings off your dress. He takes it and gazes in awe; Your lines are clear and sure, the shading perfectly done to portray the way light reflects on his short, curly, brown hair in a manner that makes you look almost attractive. In fact, the soft lines and colors of his profile imply an almost ethereal allure to him that he would never have attributed to himself, but you…

          “I would really love to talk to you further about your ideas and passions. Do you think we could see each other some time?” he asks, standing up for the first time and looking down at you. You just giggle at him, untying your hair and gathering up your things.

          “Turn the paper over,” you say, over your shoulder as you turn around and walk away with a lightness in your step reminding Spencer of a fairy or gossamer spirit. He does as told and reads the neat, red script at the bottom of the page.

_“The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only. -Victor Hugo_

_I’ll meet you here next week, Mr. Stranger.”_


End file.
